McNellie's Pub Ale.

Sometime, about four score and seven years ago, I promised a more thorough review of the Marshall's McNellie's Pub Ale from Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Well, I just opened the bottle I brought home with me several months ago, and it's pretty great.  Still way overcarbonated, but no floaties this time.  Maybe some production snafu bottling at the pressure meant for kegging?  I don't know.

Anyway, once the substantial and persistent head subsides, the beer is awesome.  The malt is right up front, big, sweet and caramel.  But then come the hops - to give it a perfect balance front to back.   Really good.

It actually reminds me of the Marshall's Atlas in that both have a balance that shifts in time from malt to hop.  I think that's part of what defines the character of a great beer - not just that the flavors balance well in the mouth initially but that they change throughout each drink and as you progress through the bottle.

Good job, Oklahoma.

Place.

In the past week, I've had the opportunity to sample local beers from craft breweries in two states - Goose Island Beer Co. in Chicago, and Marshall Brewing Company in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

The Marshall beer, Atlas IPA, is excellent.  The malt and hop flavors complement each other extremely well.  There's big malt, but the brewer didn't overcompensate and let the hops completely dominate.  They're there alright - and sharing the spotlight - but it's not a "typical American IPA."

The Goose Island beers that I had - the Pere Jacques and the Matilda - however, were both labeled "Belgian-style ales."  Ignoring for a minute the fact that "Belgian-style ale" inherently lacks meaning - dubbel? saison? wit? which Belgium? - I wondered why a Chicago brewery, ostensibly proud of its own hometown, would cede its beer to another country clear across the ocean.  

Both the Goose Island beers, however, were true to their meaningless labels - they were copies of "Belgian-style" beers - particularly the Pere Jacques, which I found to be underattenuated and sweet almost to the point of being sticky.  It was as if the brewer sat down with bottles of Chimay, Westmalle and Rochefort and decided he would make a beer that mixed all three together.  With predictable results.  Admittedly, the Matilda was a much better beer.  She had a character that was at least somewhat unique, even if not inspired.  In the end, though, the beers seemed like a forgeries - an imitation without any inspiration of its own.

Which I guess brings me back to Jean-Marie Rock's statement that Americans should stop copying the Belgian beers and make their own damn beer, which I can't seem to stop thinking about as I work out Blackland's future.

My good friend Joe Stange over at Thirsty Pilgrim, who just published his own book, "Around Brussels in 80 Beers," recently said that "it doesn't matter where beer is from any more than it matters what style it is."  With all due respect, I think Joe is less correct as to the irrelevance of place, than the irrelevance of style.

Styles give the consumer a chance to know what they're getting into, and most consumers want to know roughly what they're buying.  If I want a clean, crisp lager for a hot summer day, I don't want to spend my money on a Russian imperial stout - and it would be rude of the brewer not to let me know basically what I'm buying.  Modestly educated consumers know that styles are amorphous and flexible, and won't be overly concerned so long as the beer is in the neighborhood.  That being said, I hate it when brewers stick a detailed style-description on the label.  I don't want the brewer to tell me what I'm tasting - that's my job.

Joe's point is well-taken, though - that the ideas that inspire great beer can come from anywhere - an American style based losely on a British style but brewed in Belgium - but I'm increasingly of the opinion that all beer - like all news - is local.

There is no reason a brewery in Chicago should be selling cheap, knock-off manikin pis statues.  The brewer should go outside, smell the air coming off the lake, the sausage, the pizza; the brewer should understand the atmosphere of the city, the people, the Cubs, the White Sox.  That should be what inspires great beer.

I've been thinking quite a lot about my next beer, a reconsideration of Texas Lager, which I hope will be the flagship for Blackland Brewing.  I used to live on a farm, about 30 miles northeast of Austin, at the end of a long gravel driveway in the middle of pastures and cotton fields.  I remember the spring days, the bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush blooming, the sky a shade of blue that only exists in Central Texas.  It rained overnight.  The pastures and trees are resplendent green before the heat of the summer sets in.  Cattle stand along the barbed wire fences watching the farmers drive casually by.  I'm driving down a one-lane road, beer between my legs, my beautiful wife in the passenger seat - windows down and the sun shining in her hair.  That's what I want my beer to taste like.

Knowing how Belgian or British or American brewers make their beers is helpful for technique, but a Belgian sure as hell can't bottle my idealized image of Texas.  And I shouldn't try to brew their idea of Belgium.

Hops.

I just wrote a very long and involved review of the above-pictured hops.  Somehow it was deleted without a draft being saved.  It took me about two hours to draft the first post, but since it was lost, here's a long story made short:

2006 New Zeland Pacific Gem, 16.3% AAU - Stinky.  Smells like garbage.  Looks like gruel to boot.

2006 U.K. First Gold, 6.8% AAU - Better.  Still smells like spinach.

2006 Belgian Kent Goldings, 5.3% AAU - The best so far.  Smells like tea.  Would actually consider putting it in my mouth.

2005 British Target, 13.15% AAU - Again, no good.  The high-alpha hops have, predictably, fared the worst.

2005 German Spalt Select, 4.8% AAU - The best of the bunch.  Smells like a good green tea, or the inside of a German restaurant (in a good way).

All of these hops in dry form smell of cheese and stinky feet.  I attribute this entirely to their age.  I purchased them all a couple of years ago, so the fact that they are so old is due only to me - not to Seven Bridges Organic.

While brewing Drunken St. Nick this weekend I used three hops in various stages - pellet, stale whole and fresh whole.  Each was as distinct from the other as could be.  I was actually very surprised at the amount of variation when each was compared side-by-side.

Pellet hops - "Rough" and industrialized.  Despite their ease of use, lack the "organic" qualities of fresh, whole flower hops.

Stale whole hops (just a few months old, but out of their vacuum pack) - Well, stale.

Fresh whole hops - Perhaps not surprisingly - the way hops should be.  Fresh. Delicate.  Floral.  Aromatic.  Like mowing fresh grass in the summer compared with raking dead leaves in the fall.

Lesson learned:  Always - Always - use fresh, whole hops in any beer where hop flavor is any part of the desired result.

Note:  St. Bernardus Christmas Ale was used in the drafting of this post.  It is brilliant.  Easily one of my favorite beers.

Cleveland.

I was up in the Buckeye State for work last week, and I took the opportunity to sample a few of the local brews.

My favorite was the Grassroots Ale from Great Lakes Brewing, which drank bigger than it is.  It's ostensibly a saison, but it wasn't immediately recognizable as such.  Still it had plenty of character and was an overall decent brew.

Later, I headed to the Great Lakes Brewing pub for dinner with a colleague (though it isn't where I tried the Grassroots).  The food was good and our salty waitress was great.  With our sausage plate, I had a Commodore Perry IPA.  It was pretty well-balanced and had a nice, smooth hop flavor, but I found it to be almost too sweet.  Then again, I like most of my beers, particularly the hoppy ones, to be nice and dry.

Finally, I had the Four C's Pale Ale from The Brew Kettle.  It was another well-hopped pale ale, but again I found it a bit unbalanced toward the sweet side for so much hop.

I'm sure I had some more beers while I was up there, but none that I remember well enough to discuss thoughtfully.  In any event it was a good trip and a good chance to see what's brewing in other parts of the country.

Resolution.

Just cracked open a bottle of the Resolution, and it's really coming into its own.

It pours a nice dark copper with a decent head and plenty of nice bottle-conditioned carbonation - lots of tiny bubbles.  By this point, it's had plenty of time to clarify, and it looks pretty good.

The aroma is mild but with distinct apple and pear notes and sweet bananas fosters smell.

Body is medium, maybe a little stickier than I'd like.

Lots of phenols and esters going on.  Not too banana-like, but still fruity and spicy.  Clove, raisin, alcohol-warmth.  Sometimes almost tart on the backside.

There's really no hop to speak of, which is to be expected.  Now that I think about it, though, it probably could've used another ounce of hops given the gravity - final abv was 8.9%.

It's good, but it's not exactly what I'm looking for in a dubbel.  Maybe a little cleaner?  More hop flavor and aroma but without too much added bitter.  More American.

Still a work in progress. . .

I am a craft brewer.

Greg Koch at Stone Brewing recently put this video together.

I could not agree more.

Christmas brew.

I'm pondering my Christmas brew, aka Drunken St. Nick, which I'm going to be brewing later this month.  I'm going to do what I've only seen referred to as a "Double Double," in Mosher's Radical Brewing.  There are almost no details in the book, so I'm pretty much going to have to wing it.

Basically, I'll do one mash, then use the wort from that mash to do a second mash.  The plan is to run the first mash to get a really fermentable wort, and the second for body - in theory it should work, but it's an experiment, so we'll see.   In any event, the result should be a very malty, very high gravity beer.  I'll be brewing it on May 30 with the goal of it finishing up in time for Christmas.

I settled on a golden ale, but there are still a few details I'm pondering - just how much Munich malt to add, what yeast to use, etc.

In the meantime, the Saison Ike brew went pretty much flawlessly, and it's now fermenting away happily.  Thanks to Carter for coming over and helping out. 

I've got the temperature at the low end of the range for the saison yeast, but I'll be increasing it to about mid-range for the saison yeast over the course of the week.

I was also second-guessing using the Brett, but I had an Orval last night, and my decision was reaffirmed.

High hope yeast.

The Saison Ike yeast has performed remarkably in the starter.  It's just now starting to flocculate out, and I pitched it on Monday.

Assuming it's been working this whole time - and not just hanging in suspension - it's really going to attenuate out and give me a nice bone dry saison.  And it smells fantastic.

The plan is a moderate-strength saison with rye and lots of hops - both bittering and flavor.  I'm going to pitch a vial of Brettanomyces bruxellensis when I move it into the secondary and dry hop it at the same time.  The idea is to create plenty of rustic, barnyard flavors but use the hops to keep the Brett in control.

Stay tuned for an update on the brew.

Spring.

Last weekend we had our annual crawfish boil.  It's a rite of springtime in Houston.  Get together, drink some beer, and enjoy the weather before the mosquitos and hurricanes blow in.  We had about 110 pounds of mudbugs, several batches of homebrew, and plenty of neighbors and friends.

This year we got a keg of Southern Star Blonde Bombshell, which I seem to be pimping all the time on this blog.  Anyway, it served it's purpose.

The next day, The Wife summed it up perfectly:  "If a few wives don't get mad, it's not a good party."

I'm sitting here now watching the yeast starter for the next batch of Saison Ike bubble away.  I'm using three different yeast strains pitched in equal amounts into the starter wort.  I've got high hopes, but we'll see how it goes. . .

American Beer.

What the hell is American Beer?

In Brew Like a Monk, Jean-Marie Rock, brewing director at Orval is quoted as saying, "Before copying Belgian brewers or Belgian methods, tell the American brewers that they have to produce a specific beer made for the American people."

My initial reaction was, "He's right - we do need our own beer."  But after about a half-second, I groaned, "Ugh, we have our own beer, and it's light American lager."  (Though even this is hard to call American now that A-B is owned by the Belgians - maybe they need to get their own beer...)

But light American lager isn't the end of the story, either.  We have the West Coast Hop Bombs, too.  But can you really say that an extreme beer from the Left Coast is an American Beer?  Most of the Texans I know say the word "California" with a roll of the eyes and a shrug of their shoulders.

Is an American Beer a beer sourced only with American ingredients?  I think it's a start, and at Blackland I will be brewing all of my beers with 100% American (or at least U.S. and Canadian)  ingredients.  But as I sit here drinking a pilsner brewed in Houston, TX, completely with North American barley and hops, I still don't feel like I'm drinking an authentically American Beer - even if I did kick up the abv by 2 percent in American bigger-is-better fashion.

Maybe there is no such thing as American Beer, because there's no such thing as Mr. Rock's "the American people."  Sure there are lots of Americans, but what it means to be American is constantly changing.  Immigration, religions, American Idol, Coors, Goldman Sachs, Granger National Bank, Southern Star, small brewer, big brewer, suburbs, urban renewal, 230 years of white men in charge followed by one improbable black one.

If it means anything to be American it means not standing still.  It means not being satisfied.  It means being a Cowboy in the best, Texan sense of the word - proud, independent, responsible, respectful.

Maybe we don't have our own beer.  Or maybe it's whatever the hell we want it to be.

Beer Wars.

Last night I went to the live premiere of the new documentary Beer Wars.   It was a decent work in the Michael Moore school of documentaries, replete with an ambush of Auggie Busch the Fourth in a hotel lobby.   You know the story, big brewers and evil three-tier distributors keeping down craft brewers and all that.  Overall, though, it was more optimistic than not that craft brewers can have a place in the market as demonstrated by the success of Dogfish Head, Stone and New Belgium.

During the panel discussion after the movie, there was some awkwardness when they showed a clip of Todd Alstrom from BeerAdvocate calling Moonshot "crap party beer" and then cut to Rhonda Kallman (Moonshot's inventor) for her response.  For her part, Ms. Kallmann admitted she wasn't a brewer and responded gamely something along the lines of "Most of the beer in America is light beer, so I'm just trying to sell an American beer."

I've been thinking a lot about the whole notion of American Beer, but that deserves its own post.

As for Mr. Alstrom's accusation, he may be right that Moonshot isn't a true craft beer - I don't think that Ms. Kallmann would argue with that - but more broadly, I'm coming to the belief that BeerAdvocate's whole system of rating beer runs counter to their stated motto of "Respect Beer."

Ratings and rankings for beer are pure snobbery.  They go beyond beer geekdom - "Gosh, did you know that beer has 74 IBUs and was made with hops grown by Himalyan tribesmen..." - into the realm of "I 'know' beer better than you, and the beer you like is crap."  Is that really necessary?  Isn't that what turns people off about wine snobs and record store clerks?  Shouldn't we leave that kind of attitude to the Cabarnet crowd?

BeerAdvocate's user ratings may be helpful to some, but there is a clear bias for beers like Imperial Stouts and IPAs.  A simple, but delicious blonde like the Southern Star Blonde Bombshell gets a mere "B" even though almost all of the comments are positive.  People just don't want to give an "A" to an accessible, drinkable beer.

Why should any beer drinker be made to feel bad about the beer she drinks just because some snob says anything less hoppy than Avery Maharaja is crap?  And if her first experience with craft beer is someone telling her that she drinks crap beer, how likely is it she will try craft beer again?

Respect beer, yes.  But respect brewers and other beer drinkers, too.

Into the bottles.

I bottled two batches this weekend - a pilsner and a runt of a rye ale.  The pils checks in at a little less than 6.5% abv, while the rye ale barely tips the scales at 4.25% abv.  Both of them should be good drinkers in a couple of weeks, albeit with completely different personalities.

The rye is the little beer that could, while the pilsner is the classic German stoic.  For the pils I did a double decoction, hit all my mash temps and the whole thing was more or less Bavarian engineering at its finest.

The rye on the other hand was almost a total disaster.  I mashed with 12 pounds of grain, including two pounds of rye, and was looking for an original gravity in the 1.062 range.  The malt came to me very poorly crushed, however, so my brewhouse efficiency was terrible - I'm talking like 50-something percent.  I guess it was partially my fault for not checking the crush before starting the mash.  Lesson learned.

Anyway, the actual gravity going into the fermenter was around 1.040, so I was kinda pissed off at the thing - I had wasted a ton of fresh, whole hop flowers and a whole brewing night for this little wimp of a beer.  I didn't even bother to rack it out of the primary, and I didn't dry hop it like I had planned, either.

Much to my surprise, when I went to bottle it - it's got some good character.  Really nice hop flavor and aroma with enough malt background to give it a little bit of balance.  It should be a great session beer.

It may be a lightweight, but I'm not mad at it anymore.

The Best Beer in the World.

According to the people who say such things, Westvleteren 12 is the Best Beer in the World.  It's the Holy Grail.  It goes  $119 for a six pack on eBay.

I was prepared to be underwhelmed.  I was not.

My good friend Joe, author of The Thirsty Pilgrim and the soon to be released book Across Belgium in 80 Beers, which he wrote with Yvan de Baets, last week sent me a couple of 12s along with a Westie Blonde and a few others that I haven't tried. (Note to the monks:  I received the beer in trade for a few Texas brews, so no profit - at least monetary - was turned in the transaction.)

If you haven't had it - it's a fantastic beer.  It's dark and imposing out front like a gothic cathedral, but one inhabited by a jolly old fellow with whom you could spend hours in a tavern.  It's amazingly drinkable for a 1o.2% abv beer.  It's one of the only beers that big I could honestly say would make a terrific session beer - even if the session would end with me falling out of my chair before finishing a six pack.

The beer arrived in two bottle that were physically different.  One had a "Trappistenbier" ring around the neck - the other did not.  The inconsistency would be unacceptable in any modern commercial brewery, but it could be a metaphor for the beer.  The packaging is immaterial - the soul is the content.  This beer is undoubtedly made by people who care.

Is it the best beer in the world?  That's a non sequitur - a question without an answer.  It's like asking a Texan where they would live if they couldn't live in Texas.

But is it worth a trip to Belgium to try it out?*  Absolutely.

* I do not condone obtaining Westvleteren via any means other than a trip to the monastery (unless you can get a personal friend to make the trip for you and said friend will accept only beer in exchange).   The monks very obviously respect their beer, and the drinking public should respect their distribution decisions.

Delirium Tremens v. Delirium Nocturnum

So this afternoon, I decided to do a back-to back tasting for Delirium Tremens and Delirium Nocturnum.  A brave act, if you ask me.

The DT is a good, maybe great, and obviously Belgian, beer.  The yeast flavors dominate, there's just a hint of sourness, and the hops are there but well disguised.  Nice gold color.  Recognizable as beer, but otherwise from another universe when compared to a typical American macro.  However, for the majority of Americans, the DT is to the Delrium Nocturnum what marijuana is to gateway drugs (an analogy that seems to fit given the beers' labels).

As with pot, most people who try DT will stop right there, thank you very much.  It's different enough that they can feel like they're being rebellious and cool, but they're not about to shoot heroin in some dirty bathroom.

The Delirium Nocturnum, though, is the hard stuff.  The distinct sourness is completely foreign to the American palate, and most who venture out there will want to come home.  The DN has a flavor that I'm sure Mosher would describe as "umami" - a meaty, soy sauce flavor.  It's also got a sour but caramel flavor like mixing coffee, Pepsi and lemonade.

It's not for me, but I'm sure there are addicts out there. . . 

Oklahoma Trip

What started out as an ordinary trip to Tulsa, Oklahoma, to visit family turned into an interesting beer tour in a state more known for its football team than its place in the modern American craft brew movement.

 

After arriving, I stopped into a liquor store for weekend provisions.  Interestingly, Oklahoma, like many states in the South, is still dealing with the vestiges of Prohibition.  One of the state's peculiarities is that only beer with less than 3.2% alcohol by weight can be sold in grocery or convenience stores.  For anything else, you've got to go to a liquor store or saloon.  For those of you outside of Oklahoma, this is why many of labels include an OK+ designation.

In any event, I happened to wander into a decent liquor store where the clerk actually knew a thing or two about beer.  For the relatively small size of their beer section, they had a quality selection, where I found McNellie's Pub Ale by Marshall Brewing, which has been brewing in Tulsa since 2007.

I also ran across Big Stick Brewing, brewer of  texas SUX lager, which will have its own post with pictures.  

The next day, per the recommendation of the liquor store clerk, the Wife and I headed to McNellie's Public House in downtown Tulsa to congratulate my oldest friend Woody on his upcoming nuptials.

 

The Mcnellie's beer menu was fantastic - better even, I think, than either the Flying Saucer or Gingerman in H-town.

 

I started with the Marshall's pub ale, which I liked better on draught than in the bottle due to some over-carbonation and overzealous head retention issues in the first bottle I tried.  I've brought another bottle back to Houston, so we'll see if it has the same issues when I open it.  There was also quite a bit of yeast floating in the bottle beer.  I don't know if this beer is bottle conditioned (it doesn't say on the bottle or the website), but if it is, a minor snafu in bottling could explain all the flaws, which would be familiar to any homebrewer.

Nonetheless, the pub ale on draft was a great example of a British bitter ale.  The hops were bracing and flavorful and well balanced by the malt.  It was appropriately carbonated, and had a great full body.  The head retention and lacing were excellent.  The beer was a slightly hazy, but didn't contain any yeast floaties or other debris.  A great craft-brewed beer.

 

Next on the menu was the Horny Toad by Coop Ale Works in Oklahoma City.  I have to admit that I don't have any good notes or particularly insightful recollections on this one - not because it wasn't a good beer, but because it was tucked into conversation and a few hours of day drinking.  I remember it as malty-sweet, almost like a maibock but not so strong.  I couldn't even tell you if it was a lager or an ale, but I'd bet on lager.  My recollection is that I enjoyed it, and it would be a great session beer.

Sticking with the Oklahoma theme, we next went with Miner Mishap by Choc Beer Company in Krebs, Oklahoma.  The brewery calls it a German schwarzbier.  It was lightly carbonated and had a light body, but it also had plenty of roastiness and well-balanced hops.

Finally, we ended with the Long Strange Tripel - one of Boulevard Brewing's Smokestack Series.  They're from Missouri - not Oklahoma - but I'm a huge fan of these beers.

 

Honestly, I was shocked at both the variety and the quality of the beers from all these breweries.  It just goes to show that with a little effort and a little passion we can save beer from its mass produced self.  If craft breweries can open and succeed in Tulsa, and even Krebs, Oklahoma, maybe we really are returning to the historic brewery system where all beer is local.  

Beautiful.

Effort.

There is almost always a difficult way of making something better.

I opened a Resolution Ale this evening, knowing full well that it needs at least another week of bottle conditioning.  I also didn't leave it in the fridge long enough to really cool it down.  Still, I was pleasantly surprised with the result.

It's still a bit green, but the flavors are coming together nicely, and it should be appropriately carbonated.  The hot alcohols are still obvious (it's about 9.5 abv), but should smooth out over the next few weeks.  The head faded a little more quickly than I would like, but I'm going to let it fully carbonate before making any judgments.

It's also not quite as malty as I'd like.  I'm thinking that maybe I should reduce or eliminate the Extra Special malt, which adds more sweetness and raisin-y flavors, but didn't add as much bready flavor, which I wanted.  This is the second Belgian in which I've used the Extra Special, and they've had similar flavor profiles.  Next time, I'll add more Munich and pale ale malt (or Vienna if I can find an organic source) instead.

The Pils is still lagering away.  Bottling will be in about four weeks.

I've also got permission to add another beer fridge, so I'll soon have one cool box dedicated to fermenting and one dedicated to lagering and beer storage.  This will allow me to increase my brewing capacity as I will be able to ferment ales in one box while the lagers lager in the other.

Howdy.

This my new blog about brewing and beer.  Join the club, right?  I now have blogs about beer and fatherhood - I'm so original, right?

Well, let's hope I can come up with a few interesting new thoughts to contribute to the world, or else we're all wasting our time here.

By way of introduction,  I've got a Belgian-style dubbel bottle-conditioning and a well-hopped pilsner lagering.  

All of my beers are brewed with 100 percent organic ingredients.

Texas' Blackland prairie is one of the most unique and endangered ecosystems in the world.  We should save what we can.

I have only recently decided that I like hoppy beers.

Shiner Bock is overrated, but Miller High Life is underrated.

I love Texas.